One Step Too Far
by TARossum
Summary: The lunatic fringe might have been a gimmick, but it was not far from reality. Unstable, that's what they call him. That's what he is. Unstable. Unpredictable. Crazy. If they knew, now they'd add a new name. Killer. (For pre-story, check out Last Man Standing.)


"You fucking asshole!" Roman shouted at Dean. "You wanted me to think that I could have killed Seth? You think this a fucking game, Dean?"

"Liar!" Seth accused Dean. "You think you can manipulate with us just like that?"

Roman asked for confession, "Say that you had that bullet on you the whole time."

"Maybe," Dean said, then smiled and took a step back. "But now we know for sure that the bullet's in the gun." He made sure they saw him inserting it in the magazine. "And that the gun is loaded. And that, as you said," he referred to Seth, "you fire, you kill." With those words he stretched his arm and pointed the gun at Roman.

"What are you doing?" Seth asked.

Roman didn't even have guts to speak.

"You don't mean to. . . ." He was too shocked to finish the sentence. Too worried. Too scared of what Dean might do.

Roman took a deep breath and quietly said, "So you _are_ mad at me."

Dean smiled and tilted his head. Then he fired.

"Now we're even," Dean said. Satisfaction warmed up his heart. Shivers ran down his spine as evilish thoughts filled his mind. The concept of revenge turned into reality. Now he felt complete. The urge to smile for the rest of his life was hard to fight. He succumbed. But he did what he had to. There were no regrets.

The lunatic fringe might have been a gimmick, but it was not far from reality. Unstable, that's what they call him. That's what he is. Unstable. Unpredictable. Crazy. If they knew, now they'd add a new name. Killer.

The gun was still in his hand, which was surprisingly steady. He would shake . . . if he understood. But as long as that adrenaline rush stayed in his body, he could continue smiling. His brain did not grasp yet what happened. His eyes perceived the image of a bullet hitting Roman's chest and flying in. They saw an arm reaching for the hole that the bullet created. They saw the victim's eyes checking the injury, then striking the eyes of the attacker. There was confusion. Surprise. Failure to understand. But those eyes did not belong to Roman, at least not in Dean's perception. He failed to match them to his friend.

He did not realize that the person he fired at had been his friend for years. He did not see this fact even when he shot again.

Now the nameless and faceless body collapsed to the ground. There were still movements but they were weaker and weaker. Soon they would be gone.

And the gun remained in his hand. He grasped it as though he was never willing to let it go. What would be the point of it anyway? Besides, he might not have been finished yet.

There was another person. With mouth open, hands shaking, eyes darker than ever. His heart was beating so fast it could be heard. It was too soon to start thinking about it, but he knew that even if he did, he wouldn't understand. Just as with Dean, the information has not reached his brain yet. For now it was a strange fantasy; something like a dream, or a nightmare. Something that would be over as soon as he wakes up. Because that's what dreams are like: they don't make sense. And this fucked-up reality certainly did not make any sense.

At what point were they to say anything? Never, preferably. Besides, in Seth's case, his brain was too shocked to work properly and let him construct meaningful sentences. He had to think about this first. But he couldn't. Dean, on the other hand, was enjoying the sight of a dying body. Still unknown to him, though. If there were to come time for talking, it was not now. Words, bringing realization, would spoil everything.

Seconds felt like years. The body had only hit the ground. Seth's brain might have been blocked but his instincts worked without mistake. In an instant he was kneeling by the friend who was holding onto life only by a thread. There was no question of avoiding the inevitable. No first aid, no medical professionals would help. Not to forget that they were in the middle of nowhere without possibility of contacting 911. Quick glance at Roman was enough to know his time was up. He did not say anything; he had enough difficulties breathing. It was getting harder and harder. Seth wished to help but there was nothing he could do. Just close the eyes. His friend's, and then his. Lie on the bloody, life-less chest, longing for feeling the beat of his heart that would never come to life again. Cry. Come to realization. Start shaking because you know it's over and you just can't bare that thought.

He took wisp of Roman's long black hair into his hand. Its softness was comforting and heart-breaking at the same time. Leaving Roman's body alone was hard to do but holding onto something that's already gone is pointless.

Seth sat up. Only now he realized Dean was still there. And that he was still grasping the gun. Which was pointed at him now. Coincidence? Purpose?

It was hard work persuading his legs to stand, but he succeeded. He looked in the eyes of the enemy.

If he didn't speak up now, he might never get the chance again. Wiping away the tears, taking a deep breath, it was time to face the reality. Time for _Dean_ to face the reality. "You killed him."

At that point Dean's brain started working. He looked down at the body that he shot. Twice. Now he saw there lying a person he knew. Person he loved. Dead.

Shivers ran down his spine. This time he felt different. Not satisfied at all. Confused, yes. Failing to comprehend what and why. Yet he still held that gun, finger on the trigger. But now it was empty. Even if he pulled the trigger, nothing would happen. He was aware of all this, it was something else that was blocking his ability to make choices. Dropping the gun was the hardest thing, even though it felt heavy and uncomfortable. It was glued to his hand, just as his eyes were to the sight that was making him sick. Why couldn't he look away? Why was it so hypnotizing to watch the evidence of his slip-up? His body started trembling, and he felt cold. His feet did not belong to him in his sensation. Maybe it would get better if he looked away. Just look away! He shouted in his mind. He couldn't. The brain wouldn't let him escape his actions. He was screaming inside. Crying. Using the gun to end his life as well. In reality, he still stood in the same position and his face was unreadable. To somebody looking at him it presented danger. After all, what gave them assurance he wouldn't get crazy again?

Seth had to ask. "Will you kill me as well?"

To Dean it was clear he wouldn't, he couldn't anyway, but that information did not leave Dean's mouth. It would be so simple to say it and make Seth feel at least a little better, but Dean was not in state to speak. Nor to care about right decision. Once you make that fatal one, nothing matters anymore.

He thought about it. There was no going back. And it happened! There could be no denying. So what were the options? Strangely, none came to his mind. He was on his own for his brain refused to help. To even take part.

Before he could notice, Seth was grabbing the gun and throwing it away. His eyes would kill if they got the chance. Seth has overcome the initial debility, and finally the anger arrived. Dean had had the chance to finish him. Now that he didn't, Seth was ready to make decisions for him. First thing he did, he put his hands on him, preventing air from entering Dean's lungs.

"You killed him!" Seth yelled again because he was unsure Dean was realizing it. "He's dead!"

At that point, Seth anticipated that Dean would fight back. He's been strangling him for a while now. But Dean did not resist. Maybe he even liked it. That surrender made Seth stop. He was not a killer and would never become one. He stepped back and looked into Dean's eyes, asking for response.

"Do you know what's happening?"

Dean's apathy continued to grow. He lacked attention and he was unusually quiet.

Seth slapped him to get some reaction.

Nothing.

He slapped him again. He could slap him a million times and Dean would not move.

"Roman's dead!" Seth shouted in his ear, he himself having difficulty pronouncing those words without falling apart. But at least he was aware of what happened. He knew there was lying a dead body behind him that once belonged to his friend. To his friend that the person in front of him coldly killed. "I don't know how you can be so calm." Seth couldn't keep looking at him. He was failing to see the person that he'd once set himself on fire for. It was scary. In few minutes, he lost two friends. Although one was still alive. But then again, maybe he shouldn't be. . . .

Seth needed to get away from him. He turned around and walked a few feet. That change of sight was necessary to stay sane. Now if only he could get rid of the silence that was crawling inside his brain and giving him the scariest thoughts. Any kind of shitty music would be better. At least he could get some fresh air.

He turned back to the crime scene. Dean hasn't moved. His eyes were still set on Roman. But there was a change. He was crying. Silently. His eyes were full of tears that were falling down his face. When Seth came closer, he saw goosebumps on Dean's arms. He noticed he was shaking. If he didn't remember what he did, Seth would hug him. But this way he couldn't. If Dean were to suffer, it was alright. It was what he deserved. All the guilt that was showing on his face . . . regrets. . . . He had to live with it now. And no matter how bad he'd feel, he couldn't expect any sympathy from Seth.

The weeping intensified and there was no sign it would end soon. It struck him all the way. He knew that Roman was dead and that he was the one who pulled the trigger. He knew that it was not a dream that he could wake up from and keep living his life the way he did before. Nothing would be the same.

Actually, this was it. It was the end of his life. Without Roman, and with the guilt, he couldn't keep on living. With Seth hating him and the sight and sound of Roman's body hitting the ground he could go on no longer. He lost his mind for one minute and it cost him his two best friends.

Finally he unfroze and moved. He passed by Seth and continued until he dropped next to Roman. He broke down. He lied down on Roman's chest just like Seth did right after it happened. The crying was augmented by feeling the still warm body. Now he was the one wishing for it to move, to come back to life. Why wasn't this a game? Why wasn't he just pretending to be dead? Was it so much to ask for? Tremendously. Unfortunately, miracles don't happen. You have to live with reality.

"I killed him," Dean muttered between the sobs. He caressed his cheek while holding the body tightly, embracing it. He was ready to stay there forever. Holding him in his arms until his body would get cold. Even longer. When he took away his life, the least he could do was to never leave his side. He didn't want to, anyway.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. It was hard for him to speak right now but it had to be said, even though Roman couldn't hear him. "I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me." The tears were falling down his face and dripping on Roman's body, wetting Dean's T-shirt, making him cold. But even that wouldn't make him leave. "I'm sorry I disappointed you . . . brother." That was when he went to pieces.


End file.
